


First of Many

by annejumps



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Faire la bise, First Meetings, M/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 04:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mal first introduced them, they began an unspoken conversation beneath those initial surface pleasantries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First of Many

**Author's Note:**

> _Faire la bise_ is the French custom of greeting with cheek kisses. For my [cottoncandy_bingo](http://cottoncandy-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) card for the square _kiss (on lips/face)_. Beta'd by [anatsuno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatsuno/pseuds/anatsuno).

Eames caught sight of Mal, waving to him from her table outside the cafe. He’d only had the pleasure of Mallorie Cobb’s company a few times before, mostly when he was, as now, in Paris, but she was memorable indeed. Eames was more familiar with her husband, Dominick, who was a bit odd and not entirely trustworthy, but then, Eames had no place throwing stones.

Also at Mal’s table was a dark-haired young man, Eames could see, who was no doubt the point man Mal wanted him to meet so that they could all discuss an upcoming job. He had his back to Eames, but he looked young, and Eames was skeptical. He’d yet to come across a truly reliable point man.

The waiter had arrived just before Eames, and he could just hear the point man speaking to him in French; Mal had said he was American, but he at least knew one foreign language.

It was a bright, breezy day. Mal, smiling, shielded her eyes from the sun as he approached, and made to stand. Pregnant, she was glowing. “No, no, love, stay put, don’t go to any trouble,” he said, as she briefly put an arm around him, tipping her face up as he bent down to lightly kiss her cheeks, a hand on her shoulder.

When he straightened, he realized the point man was on his feet and standing before him. “Arthur Levine, this is our forger, William Eames. William Eames, this is Arthur Levine, our point man,” Mal said, pleasant. Arthur had a little smile on his rather lovely face as he stepped closer and leaned in, lips only just brushing Eames’ cheeks.

Eames distractedly returned the greeting in kind, feeling his skin heat; Arthur smelled wonderful, faint hints of pomade, cologne, and soap mingling with the scent of his warm skin.

“Eames. Pleasure to meet you,” Arthur said, taking his seat. His voice was surprisingly deep.

“Likewise, I’m sure,” Eames said, sitting down next to Mal. He was able to take a good look at Arthur then, as Arthur resumed going over his notes with Mal.

Arthur was indeed young; his dark hair was severely slicked back, presumably to make him look older, with dubious success. The close-shorn sides suggested a military haircut growing out. His posture, too, spoke of the military: relaxed but still poised, back straight.

He was dressed in a v-neck jumper which looked to be cashmere, with the sleeves rolled up, over a striped dress shirt and lightly patterned tie, the knot of which was ever so slightly crooked. Perfect skin, a slender neck, sloe eyes, a cupid’s-bow mouth, ears that stuck out a bit.

Eames only realized he was staring when Mal said “Eames, what do you think?” with a nudge, and Arthur caught him looking.

“Sorry, what was the question?” Eames asked, polite and bland, and Arthur looked back down at his little notebook, trying to hide a grin, his ears going pink. He had dimples, and his eyes crinkled. He held a pen in his rather large, long-fingered hand, and he tapped it on the table, a bit of fidgeting from excess energy that Eames didn’t expect from someone who seemed so composed.

Mal’s astute gaze drifted from Eames to Arthur, and then back to Eames.

“All right. I don’t care if you two sleep together,” she said matter-of-factly, “as long as you don’t let it interfere with our work.”

There was a pause. Arthur cleared his throat. “Cheers, Mal,” Eames said dryly.

“Well, why not put it all on the table,” Mal said, shrugging, brushing her curls back from her face. “But as I was saying, Eames, can you obtain the blueprints today?”

Eames agreed that he could; their tea arrived, and they continued talking about the job (as much as they could in public). Eames was careful not to stare again -- no use being too obvious -- but occasionally his and Arthur’s eyes met, and every time, Eames felt it like a caress.

Tea gone and the work sorted, they prepared to go their separate ways, Arthur to accompany Mal home since he was staying with the Cobbs, and finally got to their feet. Eames made much of how lovely Mal looked, every word of it true, and kissed her goodbye before she passed him off to Arthur.

Eames felt a pang in his solar plexus as Arthur stepped closer to him than he had before, and actually _kissed_ his right cheek, and then his left, rather deliberately, in opposition to the usual custom Eames would have expected between two non-French men who’d just met. Eames again returned in kind, a hand on Arthur’s forearm. He felt his stubble lightly scrape Arthur’s skin. Arthur’s hand rested at the small of his back, proprietary in a way that should have been presumptuous, his warm touch there sending an answering heat through Eames’ lower body. The contact was all too brief.

They lingered in each other’s space even after drawing back a bit, no longer touching. Eames imagined stepping forward again and pressing himself against Arthur’s lean form, nosing along his shapely jaw and then kissing him properly. _Later_ , he thought. _Perhaps_.

Instead, recovering, Eames made to leave, dispensing niceties about seeing them both at the agreed-upon date. Arthur scribbled in the little notebook he’d been writing in, tore out a page, and passed it to him. “In case you need to contact me this evening,” he said, gaze locking with Eames’ as Mal watched them.

Eames pocketed the paper, and nodded. “I may have some questions for you,” he said, and briefly passed the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, watching Arthur track the movement.

Mal laughed and took Arthur’s arm. She tilted her head back and said airily to the sky, “Oh, what have I done?”


End file.
